


Beyond the Truth

by jdrush



Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, F/M, Fix-It, Missing Scene, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: "The Truth" left too many unanswered questions.  Here are my answers to some of them.
Relationships: John Doggett/Monica Reyes
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Beyond the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to CC, 1013, and FOX.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm slowly uploading some of my old stories to AO3. This story was written shortly after the original finale to "The X-Files", in 2002, so it doesn't incorporate any information from the recent reboot. I haven't watched "The Truth" in years, so I don't know how well this holds up, but I always liked the way Doggett and Reyes played off each other, so I thought I'd share it.

**A cheap, grungy motel room,**   
**just over the Mexican border**

  
**MAY, 2002**

  
"Damn stupid television!" I cursed, shutting down the set and throwing the remote onto the nightstand with a huff.

Monica chose that moment to stroll out of the bathroom, a thin little motel towel wrapped around her body, another wrapped around her head, and I felt my heart beating faster just because she was in the room. That's been happening a lot lately – she just has that effect on me. "Problem, John?" she asked with an amused little smirk.  
  
Have I ever said how much I love her smiles? Not smile. Smiles. She has a thousand of them, in all different shapes and sizes, and uses them for a thousand different reasons. I love her smiles. "Yeah, can't find nuthin' but Spanish television shows," I grumbled. "And I thought _Gilligan's Island_ sucked in English."  
  
"You're in Mexico now," she reminded me. "You have to go native. By the way, that's a great look for you."  
  
I looked down quickly at my outfit – blue and white striped boxers and a pair of athletic socks – and demanded, "How can you be so chipper at a time like this?"  
  
"Well, we had an authentic Mexican dinner, I'm shacked up at the Ritz here with you, and I just took a nice hot shower," she replied way too cheerfully. "Life is good."  
  
"You save me any hot water?"  
  
"Of course!" And by her teasing little grin, I could tell she meant about a cup or two. If I was lucky.  
  
"What about towels?" I questioned, nodding at her ensemble.  
  
"I think there were a couple left," she answered vaguely. (Read: one lonely facecloth.)  
  
"Pity," I tsked. "I was hopin' I could borrow one of yours."  
  
The amused smirk was back, along with a twinkle in her eye. "You wish. May I?" But before I could voice an opinion, she wandered over to the bed and sat herself down next to me, her bare leg touching mine, and sending shivers down my spine. Too bad she immediately leaped up again, giving a little shriek of surprise.  
  
"Mo, you okay?" I asked anxiously, half-wondering if she had been attacked by some kind of vermin or something.  
  
"Yeah, I just . . ." she paused and reached underneath her, pulling out my cell phone. She sheepishly handed it to me, apologizing, "Sorry, John, I didn't see it. By the way, what is your phone doing in the bed?"  
  
"I was making 1-900 calls."  
  
She shot me a look. "I thought you didn't understand Spanish."  
  
"You don't need to understand Spanish for those kinds of calls," I quipped with a waggle of my eyebrows.  
  
"I think you were down in that basement too long," she laughed. "Mulder's bad habits rubbed off on you."  
  
"C'mon, Mo, why would I need those calls when I've got you?" I told her truthfully.  
  
She just shook her head and gave my cheek a butterfly kiss. "Sweet talker," she muttered.  
  
Placing the phone on the nightstand next to the remote, I came clean. "Actually, I got a call while you were in the shower."  
  
"Really, who?" she asked, her tone a mixture of curiosity and dread.  
  
"Skinner."  
  
When I said his name, she gasped. I could only imagine what was running through her mind. Truth is, we had both been worried about the big guy since hauling ass out of D.C. as fast as we did. We hated leaving him to face the F.B.I. firing squad alone but we hadn't had much choice – we had to get to Mulder and Scully before it was too late. "Is he all right?" she inquired, quite concerned.  
  
"Yeah, he's fine," I told her. "Wanted to let us know he got Gibson out of Washington."  
  
She breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Thank God! How's Gibson doing?"  
  
"Well, he's pretty shaken up, as can be expected."  
  
"Poor kid," she sighed, sympathetically. "Where'd Skinner send him?"  
  
"Actually, they're both in Canada," I revealed.  
  
"Both? Skinner, too?"  
  
"Yeah, claims it's his job now to watch out for the kid. Said it's the least he can do after Gibson gave up everything to try to help Mulder."  
  
She smiled at that, one of her 'isn't-that-sweet?' smiles. "So Skinner's a dad now?"  
  
"Guess so," I smiled back. "They'll probably be good for each other." I could just see them together. Gibson had been on his own too long, with no one to provide him guidance, no one he could look up to. No one he could really trust. And Skinner, well, he'd never had any kids of his own. I always thought he'd make a great dad, though. Now he was gonna have his chance.  
  
Monica unraveled the towel from her head and started drying her hair. "So, where are they hiding?"  
  
"He wouldn't say – and I didn't ask." At her puzzled look, I elaborated, "The phone lines might not have been secure."  
  
She shrugged her shoulders and said, "That's okay. We'll manage to hook up with them somehow."  
  
I looked down and shook my head. "He was calling to say goodbye, Mo."  
  
There was a delay before she said anything. "Goodbye?" she asked, softly. "What does that mean?"  
  
I dared to look back up at her, even as I dreaded giving her the news. "They're gonna lay low for a couple of days then make a break for it and get the hell out of North America. Just like Kersh told Mulder to do, only the thickheaded jackass wouldn't listen."  
  
"Where are they going?" I didn't say anything, but by the expression on my face, she answered her own question. "You don't know, do you?"  
  
"Unsecured phone lines," I repeated.  
  
"But we'll never know if they're – I mean," she hesitated, clearly not wanting to finish her thought. "We won't know if they make it."  
  
"They will," I stated confidently, taking the towel from her limp hand and starting to gently rub it through her hair again. "Skinner's a smart man and he knows the game – been playing it for years. He's the perfect man for this job."  
  
She was quiet for a moment before murmuring, sadly, "I'm going to miss him. He was a great boss, and a good person."  
  
"Yeah, I know," I agreed. "One of the best." I was gonna miss the holy hell out of Walter. He had been a good friend to me, even when I thought I didn't have any left.  
  
She sat for a minute or two, allowing me to pamper her, before she mused philosophically, "It's amazing how one man can affect so many lives."  
  
"Skinner?" I asked, distractedly. Damn, she looked so beautiful with her soft brown hair hanging down in wet strands like that. Okay, so I had it bad for the girl. I'll be the first to admit it.  
  
She flashed me her tolerant 'John-get-with-the-program' smile. "No, I meant Mulder. I don't know about you, but my life was much easier before his path crossed mine."  
  
I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "That's definitely an understatement, Mo."  
  
"Still, I'm glad we helped him escape." As she leaned her head on my bare shoulder, I couldn't stop myself from running my fingers through her silky, damp hair. She gave a little contented sigh then pondered, "Do you think they got out alive?"  
  
"Mulduh and Dana? I'm sure of it. That guy's got more lives than a cat." (More lives than a dozen cats, it sometimes seems!)  
  
"They'll be on the run forever," she whispered, wistfully. "It's not fair after everything they've been through."  
  
I cupped her cheek tenderly and murmured, "At least they're together. And so are we," and I tilted her face up so I could give her a kiss, thrilling to the feel of her petal-soft lips pressing against mine. The novelty of kissing Monica still hadn't worn off in the few short weeks that we've been 'an item'. We had waited so long, all those lost years because my fear prevented me from expressing my true feelings for her – the fear that I'd lose her just as I had lost Luke. The thought of that happening scared the crap outta me, enough that I kept pushing her away. But Monica is not a woman who will be denied, and it was just a matter of time before she wore down my defenses. Now I couldn't get enough of her. As the kiss came to a reluctant end, I ran my hand down her slim shoulder and asked, "So, what are our plans?"  
  
"Tomorrow we drive down to Madera and pick up some new ID's," she informed me, as if she were talking about going to the corner store and getting a carton of milk.  
  
"And how do we do that?" I laughed. "Those things don't exactly grow on trees, you know."  
  
That earned me one of her superior 'I-know-something-you-don't-know' smiles. "Well, while you were arranging the 'copter rental, I was making arrangements of my own."  
  
"Arrangements," I repeated stupidly.  
  
"You know, calling in a few favors."  
  
"Favors? From who?"  
  
"Just some old contacts of mine," she replied, enigmatically.  
  
I let that sink in before I ventured, "The kind of 'contacts' that can get us fake papers?"  
  
"I figured we'd need them in the event we had to 'disappear'," she explained, "and, unfortunately, that's starting to look like the case."  
  
"What are you doin' hangin' around people like that?" I scolded, only half- jokingly.  
  
She sighed dramatically. "John, I grew up in Mexico, remember? It's all in who you know down here."  
  
"And you trust these . . . 'contacts'?" I inquired, dubiously.  
  
"No, not particularly. But I'd take my chances with them before I would with the U.S. Government right now." She paused for a moment then added with a devilish gleam in her eye, "Oh, and we'll be posing as a married couple. Hope you don't mind."  
  
I couldn't help roaring at that. "Well, what the hell? I figured you'd eventually drag me to the altar anyway." My little dig earned me a playful punch in the arm; I snatched at her hand and brought it up to my lips for an 'I'm sorry' kiss. "Okay, then what?"  
  
Running a finger lovingly along my bottom lip, she imparted, "From there, we head down to El Fuerte to pick up William. I'm uneasy leaving him with Mom and Dad any longer. They'll be safer once he's with us."  
  
That caused another guffaw from me. "Man, I've heard of ready-made families, but this is ridiculous!"  
  
"I know, John, but we don't have a choice. My parents were only a temporary solution – we all knew that when they agreed to take him in." And God bless them for doing it, too. We were all shaken up with Jeffrey Spender's sudden reappearance. (I mean, doesn't anyone stay DEAD around here?) And those doomsday prophesies about William he was spouting didn't help matters. Dana was terrified for her son's life and figured the only way he'd be safe was if she put him up for adoption – anonymously – so there'd be no chance of tracking his parentage. But at the last minute, Monica intervened and said she had a better solution. The next thing we knew, William was on his way to Mexico.  
  
"It's a promise I made to Dana," Mo continued, declaring emphatically, "I told her he would always be safe if she trusted me, and I'm going to keep my word until she can be reunited with him."  
  
I couldn't help but admire her determination to honor her promise, no matter what. If there's one word that defines Monica, it's 'loyal'. She has stood by me through thick and thin, her faith in me never wavering. It was one of the many things I loved about her. "You think he'll be safe with us?"  
  
"Well, one thing's for sure," she acknowledged, "they won't be looking for the two of us with a baby."  
  
"So a family is probably the safest cover we could ask for," I concluded, seeing the method to her madness.  
  
She nodded sagely. "That's what *I* was thinking."  
  
"It's just . . . Mo, I'm gonna be truthful with you. I don't know what kind of dad I can be to the kid," I told her honestly. Images of my beautiful boy filled my head against my will. Since his death, I had gone out of my way to avoid contact with children. I wasn't sure I could do what she was asking me to do.  
  
Her eyes grew soft, empathy just radiating from her. "John, you were a great father to Luke. What happened wasn't your fault. Deep in your heart you know that."  
  
"I know, but saying it and believing it are two different things." Holding her gaze, I confessed, "Mo . . . I'm scared of being a father again."  
  
She squeezed my hand tightly, and I could feel all her quiet strength flowing through me. "I know how hard this is going to be for you, John," she began. "I really do. And I know I'm asking a lot of you. But that child's welfare is the most important thing right now. We have to be there for him. He needs us – both of us." Giving my hand another quick squeeze, she treated me to one of her brave 'we're-going-to-be-good' smiles as she added, "If it'll make you feel any better, I'm scared, too. I've never been a mom before. So we can be scared together. That'll make it a LITTLE easier, right?"  
  
How could I not smile back when she was so filled with passion and enthusiasm? Monica Reyes was one in a million. I squeezed her hand back and sighed, "A LOT easier." I was rewarded with another kiss from her sweet lips, a kiss that went from comforting to red-hot in the span of a heartbeat. When we finally came up for air, I hit her with another issue that had been bothering me. "What about money?" I queried. "We can't exactly use our credit cards – not unless you want THEM to be able to track us, that is."  
  
"Well, I'm sure my parents will loan us some money until we get on our feet."  
  
"I hate borrowing money from your folks," I protested.  
  
"It's only for a little while, until you can get a job," she assured me.  
  
"Oh, and when did *I* suddenly become the breadwinner, huh?" I kidded.  
  
"This is Mexico, remember? It's very macho, very male-dominated, very patriarchal. If we're going to blend in, it's best to follow the customs, and that includes the woman playing homemaker while the man brings home the bacon. Believe me, it's not my choice, either."  
  
"And that's the only reason, right?" I accused.  
  
"Well, that, and the fact that someone has to stay at home with William. We can't be trusting him to babysitters."  
  
"Yeah, I bet you just wanna stay home and watch _Gilligan's Island_ ," I teased.  
  
" _The Brady Bunch_ , maybe. Not _Gilligan's Island_ ," she teased back.  
  
"So, how do you propose I go about gettin' a job?" I inquired. "I don't think my resume amounts to a hill of beans down here."  
  
"Dad knows a lot of people. He'll be able to help you find something."  
  
"More 'contacts'?" I asked, incredulously.  
  
"What can I say? They come in handy."  
  
"I don't know Spanish," I reminded her. "Won't that be a problem?"  
  
"I can teach you. It'll give us something to do at night," and she smiled her 'won't-that-be-FUN?' smile.  
  
"Actually, I can think of something much more . . . entertaining . . . than language lessons," I leered, as I pushed her flat on the bed and tried to undo the knot in the flimsy little towel.  
  
"John!" she screeched, playfully slapping my hands away. "Stop that!"  
  
"Awwww, c'mon, Mo. If we've gotta pretend to be married, we should get in some practice. And it's been days since we . . . ."  
  
"I'm not in the mood," she cut me off before I could finish.  
  
Nibbling on her neck, I insisted, "But I could GET you in the mood, right?"  
  
She giggled, "I seriously doubt it."  
  
"Wanna bet?" I challenged, running my hand up her bare thigh and cupping her shapely behind. (My Monica has a GREAT behind.)  
  
She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly, and for a moment I thought I had her, until she mumbled, "John, it's been a long day. I'm tired. And you need a shower."  
  
"Mo, I'm hurt," I sulked.  
  
Her eyes opened again, filled with mischief. Pretending to take an exaggerated sniff, she then announced, "A lo-n-n-n-g-g-g shower, if you catch my drift."  
  
"I thought pheromones were supposed to make you hot?" I noted.  
  
"And a shave," she threw in for good measure.  
  
I ran my hand over my stubbly chin. Okay, she had a point there. Pushing myself off the bed, I muttered, "So bossy. I can see who's gonna be wearing the pants in this marriage."  
  
"You'll get used to it," said with one of her smug 'you're-in-deep-trouble-NOW' smirks.  
  
"Yeah, right, whatever," I grouched jokingly as I headed towards the bathroom.  
  
"John?" I heard quietly behind me.  
  
I turned back to her. "Hmmm?"  
  
She hopped off the bed and came up to me. "It's going to be okay, John," she whispered, confidently. "You'll see. We'll all be okay."  
  
Wrapping my arms around her waist, I drew her in for another kiss, her soft lips molding perfectly to mine, as if we were made for each other. "I know, hon. Can't think of anyone else I'd rather be on the run from the law with. I love you, Monica."  
  
The smile she bestowed on me was her full-blown, beaming, 'light-up-the-whole-freaking-room' smile, the one that turns my knees to Jell-O and warms me to my soul. "I love you, too, John," she purred as she melted into my embrace. And as we stood there, hugging each other in that grubby little motel room, I couldn't help but think that maybe she was right.  
  
We were gonna be okay after all.  
  
**THE END**


End file.
